


Photographs

by Joeybooth16



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-13 02:08:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16883604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joeybooth16/pseuds/Joeybooth16





	1. The beginning

John had no idea who had taken the photo, that information had long since been lost to time, his memory was not what it once was he knew, Sherlock would have remember..he always did.  
There the two of them stood, so impossibly young, John's hair barely touched by grey, the gold shining brightly in the sunshine, lines still only faint and not the deep etches they are now, blue eyes so clear and eager as they gaze up at the tall man at his side.  
John wonders at that gaze, how it shone with the familiar thrill, the tangible excitement..the sheer joy it had been to stand with that man at his side.  
John's frail fingers drifted over the precious image with a gentle touch, lingering over the faces of these oh so alive and vibrant men, shook his head in wonder at just how staggering his life had been, a life that would have been so grey had it not been for the friendship..and love of the raven haired beauty at his side, an arrogant genius who had seen John, actually seen him, and revelled in what he saw like no other, had become as vital as air to John.. a love that rivaled a fairy tale, and a life far more improbable.  
And here they both stood, John and Sherlock, an inseparable pair, proof positive that soulmates do truly exist, so very young as they stood in the summer sun and gazed at one another and grinned for the joy of living.  
The first photograph of them together, not quite the start of the journey, but very close, preserved forever in a little book of memories by an old frail man with a memory that wasn't what it once was..  
Who had lived a life so impossible..  
With a man so extraordinary...


	2. John remembers

In his hand a photograph, a moment in time, a carefully preserved image of sometimes the most mundane of thing's on the most mundane of days, a typical Tuesday, nothing special, and a scenario that you will have seen so many times in a lifetime..if you are lucky.  
But this one moment, this single day, and this single act will forever be imprinted on your mind simply because you, on whim, captured it.  
You will forever remember that on a grey Tuesday in 2018, you stood before the man you loved and preserved his beauty.  
The curve of his lean frame as he bent over some random experiment you have long since forgotten, his long elegant fingers curled around a test tube, it still takes you by surprise how small it seems in comparison to those expressive hands.  
The tilt of his jaw, and how it so perfectly flowed into that long pale neck, and that one spot, just there, that you always loved to kiss.  
Those beautifully sharp cheekbones you constantly teased him about, but always gently, because you loved them so much. And those exordinary bright eyes that you spent years trying to describe in written word, never doing them justice.  
The riot of curls that framed his face, raven black and so soft..you remember how soft, and finally that mouth..how many times had you kissed that mouth, had lingered over their silken cupid bow with your own, warm and soft, and always..always ready to respond to yours, here forever curved in a smile of amusement, of patient indulgence.  
John Watson clutches that photograph, that moment in time, that carefully preserved image of a man he had loved, loved and lost, that perfect moment so many years ago, when, on a dreary afternoon in a kitchen full of clutter, he was loved by the most beautiful and impossibly brilliant man he would ever know..oh so many years ago.  
And John remembers.


End file.
